by Reid, Ruby
When he opened them twenty minutes later, it was to the sound of the brakes on a city bus as it pulled up to the bus stop. He got on slowly and took a seat. He watched the hospital roll away in the distance as the bus wound his way through the dark streets and back towards the center of town.
Fifteen minutes later, Alex started to see streets that looked familiar. He realized then that he was only seven or eight blocks away from Amanda’s house. He got off at the next stop and walked his way back towards Amanda’s, terrified by the fact that he was going to have to tell her about what he was involved in and that he knew who killed her husband.
The question was…how honest did he need to be? While he had not been involved, Jameson had. So the club he had been in had in some way been responsible for Stephen’s murder.
Once that came out, would he keep going? Would he tell her all of the secrets from his past — even the one that had set him on the course to live the life that the Unknowns had given him? Would he tell her about what he had done that he sometimes had nightmares about?
If he could get out the news about the Tulsa job, he thought he just might go that far — if she didn’t kick him to the curb first.
It was all just so messed up.
When he came to Amanda’s street, it was 4:45. He walked like a man still half asleep, making his way up her stairs and unlocking the door with the spare key she had shown him yesterday, hidden beneath a small decorative flowerpot. When he stepped inside, the house was still dark, and it broke his heart to realize that it was the closest thing to feeling “at home” that he had felt in a very long time.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He tried to be as quiet as he could when he entered the bedroom. He was hoping that he could sneak in a shower without waking Amanda. He was sore from the fight with Marco and Larry, his head still ringing a bit and his sides aching. More than anything, he just wanted to get the events of the night off of him.
Within two steps of the bedroom, Amanda stirred at slowly sat up. “Hey,” she said sleepily. “You’re back.”
“I’m back,” he confirmed.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
He almost gave the most blatant lie possible and nearly said yes. Instead, he shrugged in the darkness. “It could have gone worse. I need a shower. I’ll tell you all about it when I get out. That okay?”
“Sure,” she said, laying back down on her pillow and watching him as he walked into the bathroom.
He left the door open, not wanting her to think that he was hiding anything from her. He undressed and stepped into the shower. The hot water soaked into him, and he instantly started to feel the tension slip away, the steam working its magic. He washed his hair, being careful when his hand ran over the slight bump on the right side of his head, just behind his ear, where the pallet had struck him. He felt a small cut there, but it was certainly nothing too serious.
He stayed in the shower for fifteen minutes, hoping it would invigorate him and allow him to stay awake for a few more hours. He was afraid that if he didn’t get the story out to Amanda right away, he’d lose his nerve. Even just the thought of telling her was making his stomach feel off-kilter.
He finally stepped out of the shower and dried himself off. He wrapped the towel around his waist and went into the bedroom where he opened his duffel bag and took out the last set of new clothes that he had. I have to figure out this living situation, he thought. All of my clothes are a few states away in a truck that I’m racking up a fee on with every hour that passes.
Of course, part of him wondered if his living situation might be rectified after he told Amanda everything. He might be headed back to Chicago for his things sooner than he thought. He had no idea how he would get there, though; his bike was still behind the warehouse, mostly wrecked. He then wondered if there was any evidence on the bike that would pin him to the events of the night. He was sure Marco and Larry would stay quiet because they stood to get in just as much trouble if they breathed a word of what was going on.
He sat on the edge of the bed with his underwear in hand, getting ready to dress himself. Just as he lifted his leg to put it into his underwear, he felt Amanda come up behind him. Her hands found his shoulders, and she started to massage him. Her touch was amazing enough, but her fingers showed the skills of having giving a few massages in her time. He instantly relaxed at her touch and let her work her magic.
“So you’re okay?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you have to beat anyone up?” she asked. He knew she was asking as a joke, so he did everything he could to make his answer sound serious but not snappy.
“Yeah.”
“Was it bad?” She asked, her fingers still at work. He wasn’t sure, but did she look slightly proud about his answer? He wondered then, for the first time, if a small part of her was excited about the darker side of him.
“It could have been a lot worse.”
“Did you get hurt?”
“Just a bump on the head and a few shots to the sides. Nothing broken, though.”
She responded by rubbing lower on his shoulders, grazing her hands along his upper back. They then came around to the front of him, caressing his biceps and then trailing over his chest. One hand came up to stroke the side of his face, her thumb extending to brush his bottom lip. She then pressed herself against his bare back, and he was reminded that she was naked. He felt her breasts pressed firmly against him as her embrace from behind him tightened around his chest.
“Amanda,” he said, literally forcing himself to get the word out, not wanting to stop what she clearly had in mind. “I have to—”
But then her mouth was on the back of his neck, and he knew that his chance was gone. There was no way he could resist her now. He felt her lips on his bare skin, and a shiver went racing down his back. He tilted his head back, and her kisses ran along the edge of his jaw. He shifted slightly, allowing their mouths to meet. She kissed him from behind, now on her knees and with her arms still wrapped around him.
The kiss was slow and passionate, but was causing his sides to ache. He turned slightly, and when he did, she pushed him lightly, indicating that she wanted him to get off of the bed. He did so and stood before her with the towel still around his waist.
She looked up to him with glorious intent in her eyes, and the words Alex had planned to speak turned to nothing but the ash of memory. She reached out to him, running her hands along his abs. Her eyes left his face and then started trailing his body. She let out a sigh of satisfaction as she took him in. He did the same, reveling in the way her naked body seemed to stand out on the sheets. Her hair was falling slightly into her face, her nipples were erect, and he could see the slightest little signs of gooseflesh running along her arms.
Her hands traveled down his chest, and she kissed him just above the navel. As she applied the kiss, her hands found the place where he had tucked the towel in, holding it to his waist. She gave a small pull, and the towel fell free. He stood before her completely naked, his sex directly in front of her. She gave him a quick smile and then took him into her hand where she then teased him. Soon, her kisses fell lower and took the place of her hand.
His sense of exhaustion was suddenly obliterated as he looked down and watched her at work. He did not move or say a single word; he let her have her way until he felt himself reaching the point of no return. He gently pulled her up and laid her back on the bed. He gave himself a moment to let his nerves calm down, running his hands and a series of kisses along her side, from her neck to the underside of her breast. He then reached down and cupped her sex, applying just enough pressure to tease.
This is absolutely wrong, he told himself. You have to tell her now. If you don’t, what you are doing right now is taking advantage…
He shut that out. It was easy; he had been doing it for years, killing off logic and emotion for what was in front him. Anything he wanted, he took. He had always done it.
He struggled with all
of this as she lay before him, and he hated himself. He loathed himself.
When he had full control of himself, he entered her slowly, and they spent the morning joined together, writhing and crying out against one another as the sun came up outside and barely spilled through the blinds in the bedroom.
When they were done, they lay together motionlessly and fell asleep tangled into one another. The last thought on Alex’s mind as sleep claimed him was that he had only dodged a bullet. He would have to tell her everything when they woke up.
He was sure that the thought alone would keep him from sleeping, but he drifted off without much trouble, secured by the rhythm of Amanda’s breathing next to him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Because of the way their first sexual encounter had gone down, breakfast was always a comical yet respected time of the day for Alex and Amanda. They mixed the menu up — pancakes one day, omelets the next, then just plain old cereal — but it still remained a familiar thing that was shared between them. Alex couldn’t help but wonder that if this relationship lasted, would breakfast become one of those inside jokes that couples shared into their old age.
He was thinking about this five hours after he had come in from his unexpected run-in with Marco as he sat at Amanda’s kitchen table, yet he couldn’t help but think that the chances of this relationship existing beyond today were slim to none. He kept trying to place himself in Amanda’s shoes, but found that the scenario was so implausible and nearly ridiculous that he had no idea how she would take it.
One thing was for sure, though: he had to tell her. The guilt of keeping it from her sat heavy on his heart like a rock after they made love. He drifted off with it on his shoulders and woke up enveloped in it.
They were eating oatmeal and toast this morning, sipping from coffee that Amanda had brewed. She made it slightly too strong, just the way Alex liked it. They were in silence, and Alex sensed that she wanted to ask him questions about last night. She wanted to know why he’d had to leave at such a late hour and why he had come back slightly sore and out of sorts. He didn’t blame here for any of that.
He decided then as he sipped from his coffee that he wouldn’t even give her the chance to ask. If he didn’t get everything off of his chest right then and there, he felt like he might suffocate.
“So,” he said, realizing that his hands were sweating. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this nervous. “There’s something I need to tell you, and I’m not quite sure how to start, so I’m just going to get it out there.”
She gave him a cautious glance and nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Is it about last night?”
“Indirectly,” he said.
He waited a beat, summoning his courage, and finally began. He tried to make himself hold eye contact with her as he spoke, but he couldn’t do it. He found himself looking into his mostly-eaten bowl of oatmeal on several occasions.
“You’re going to want to ask questions throughout it, but please try not to. Just let me get it out.”
“Ok,” she said, clearly concerned now.
“The call I got last night — the one that had me going out so late — was from a man name Jameson Cane. He’s the leader of my club. It turns out that he was a little pissed about me stepping out on him, and he came here to talk to me. I was sure that he was going to try to kick my ass or something, but I had to go. Jameson saved me in many ways; I’d likely be dead if it wasn’t for him taking me into the club and relying on me so much. So that’s where I went last night, to meet him at the restaurant where you and I met… in the parking lot.
“But when I got there, I found that he had been shot, and the shooters had just left the scene, so I chased after them on my bike, and when I finally caught up to them, I discovered that there were two. We fought, and I lost my bike as a result. I took care of them easy enough, but they’re still out there, I guess.”
He could see the questions piling up behind her eyes, and he hated himself for what he was about to out her through, but it had been forever since he had ever done the right thing, and this was probably the last time he’d ever feel prompted so strongly to do it.
“The man that shot Jameson is a nasty character named Marco O’Brien. He and Jameson have been at odds for several months now because they used to work together. Jameson would hire Marco from time to time to take care of… well… dirty work. Sometimes it was beatings, sometimes minor torture and sometimes… murder.”
Amanda’s face went pale at this, and he saw that she was crossing her arms. He supposed psychologists would call it a defensive behavior.
“But Marco started getting sloppy. He was usually business-minded about his work, but people say that he got sort of screwed in the head. He started to care more about the killing and pain than the business side of things. That made him sloppy, and Jameson wanted nothing to do with him. This made things awkward, as Marco is a big deal in Chicago, and that’s where the Unknowns are relocating.”
He took a breath here and could not look at her. The next part was going to be the bomb that could potentially destroy them. As he picked up and started speaking again, his voice was broken with a series of tremors.
“Here’s the thing about Marco, though. See… back when he and Jameson started working together, Marco was damned good at what he did. He was very discreet and never left evidence. In and out, and it was all done. It was very recently, in speaking to you, that I made a connection that shocked me to my core. There was this job a while back… a job Marco was assigned to in Tulsa and—,”
“Tulsa? Tulsa, Oklahoma?” Amanda asked.
Alex could only nod.
“Wait,” she said, her own voice cracking now. “Are you trying to tell me that this guy… that this Marco…”
“He was hired to go in with two others and get these passcodes or something… there was this money being exchanged that Jameson had easy access to because of an inside man. When they got there, they weren’t expecting anyone to be working. They got there and your husband was there.”
Amanda had stood up from the table, her hands covering her mouth in an expression of horror.
“So you know who killed Stephen? You’re certain?”
“Yeah.”
She was pacing now, back and forth between the kitchen table and the wall. She stopped once, twice, and then a third time. On the third time, she looked to Alex with genuine pain in her eyes.
“Jameson hired him? The man you were so close with in your club hired Marco? The man that killed my husband?” There was a bitter flare of fury behind every word that Alex felt coming off of her like heat.
“Yes.”
“And where are they now?”
“I don’t know where Marco is,” Alex said. “Jameson is currently in the hospital. I stopped by there last night before coming here, and the police were questioning him. When I was fighting Marco, and this other guy that was with him, someone saw us and threatened to call the cops, so I had to get out of here. I had to—”
“So you were in the club that was responsible for Stephen’s death?”
“Amanda, it’s not like that. Jameson would have never given the order to kill someone when it wasn’t necessary.”
“Necessary?” she screamed. “What do you think you are… a fucking gangster? This isn’t some movie about glorified, asshole bikers. This is real! This is my life!”
“Amanda, I—”
She then took two lunging steps toward him, and he thought she meant to slap him. Her arms remained rigid by her sides though. She stared into his face and said in short and precise words, “Get out of my house. Get out of my house right now, and maybe I won’t call the cops on you or your pathetic little motorcycle club.”
“Amanda, it’s not—,”
“Get the hell out!”
Her scream pierced his heart, and he knew that he could not stay there. He hated the thought that he was hurting her and hearing her screaming, layered in pain and hatred for him, was more than he co
uld take.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he got up from the table. He walked out of the kitchen and resisted the many urges to look back.
When he closed the front door behind him, he stood on the front porch, dazed. He looked to the closed door and thought about opening it and going back. He’d embrace her even though he knew he’d have to fight her resistance. But then again, he’d never seen such fury and anger in a woman before. The fact that it was all underpinned by an immense sorrow made it all the more difficult for him to relate to.
As he started down the stairs, he hear and immense sob from within the house. It felt like someone had reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and squeezed.
Near tears, Alex made it to the curb. He felt naked without his bike, and he wondered where it was right now. Probably at an impound. Or maybe some hopeful employee at the warehouse had taken it home with intentions of fixing it up and claiming it as their own.
